


The Stories You Have Come To Fear The Most

by hanwritessolo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-04 17:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18348152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanwritessolo/pseuds/hanwritessolo
Summary: A collection of prompt drabbles not suitable for the weak of heart.





	1. Ignis / “Tell me this isn’t you breaking up with me."

Ignis sits across from you at the dinner table, picking at his plate of greens in a methodical silence. In this silence, there lingers an echo from the remains of another disagreement. In this disagreement, there exists a slowly widening space that there might as well be a barbed fence, or a wall, or an ocean, or his duty—which, for the fucking record, is always the issue, because it’s always about his work anyway, the one thing he always remembers clearly than your planned dinners, your birthdays, or your bloody fucking anniversary.

Perhaps this is what lonely looks like. Not distance measured in miles, not alone on a Sunday night, but this, right here: being in the same room with the one you love and yet feel so achingly far away.

Ignis draws a weary sigh. “I’m really sorry. Can we at least talk about—”

“This isn’t working,” you say suddenly.

Ignis stares at you, his face mired with confusion. “I don’t understand,” he says.

“I can’t do this anymore, Iggy,” you say. There is no hurt nor pain in the sound of your voice, only a cutting indifference.

A painful pause. The realization dawns on him in heavy breaths. “Please,” he says, his voice slowly cracking, “please tell me this isn’t you breaking up with me.”

“I believe I am,” you tell him so finally, so surely, so  _numbly,_ that you do not feel the tears that stream down your face.


	2. Cor / "You fucking ignored me. You didn’t even tell me why.”

It probably started on that mission in Leide. You should have noticed the strained silences, the stilted conversations. You have known Cor for so long—too many battles fought together, too many victories earned—that at this point, you can tell what’s on his mind with just a simple look, understand the language he speaks in his silences.

But this silence is neither friendly nor familiar. Not when Cor has chosen not to speak to you these last few weeks.

Not when you finally find out from Clarus that Cor has requested to be reassigned to a different unit.

Frankly, this should not even be bothering you at all. But still, you could not help but wonder how such a promising partnership could ever end up like this.

Just as you are about to call it a day, you see Cor standing by the doorway of your office.

You stare at him. Something in you seethes. “So,” you say, after an excruciating pause, “what brings you here,  _Marshal?”_

“Well, I—“ Cor stammers, reaching for the back of his neck— “I was wondering if you have time to talk—“

“Really?” You scoff. It takes a monumental effort not to punch him in the fucking face. “After, what? Leaving me just like that, and now you want to talk—“

“Look, it’s not like that at all,” Cor says firmly, shaking his head. “Please allow me to explain—“

“Explain what?” you snap coldly. “You fucking ignored me, Cor. These past few days it’s like I didn’t even exist to you. And now you have the balls to show up here, not even telling me why—“

Your anger wilts into something else when Cor, in furious strides, makes his way to seal your mouth with his. First comes the spark of surprise, then the warmth of the unravel, the slow unwinding of a loose thread. How surreal that after all this time, you have not been alone in this feeling. That somehow, in all those silences of his you have claimed to know, there are still uncharted parts of him waiting to be discovered. That this kiss is not only a beginning of a new voyage, but a ship finally returning home.

“I’m sorry. I’m not really good with words,” he confesses under his breath, his forehead still pressed with yours. “But I hope this gets my message across.”

You cannot help the smile easing out of your lips. “Message received loud and clear, you idiot,” you say, as you pull him by the collar of his shirt for another kiss.


	3. Noctis / "It wasn't easy, you know? I really liked you."

Across the room, in the midst of all this sickening pop music, the madness of neon lights, and the acrid smoke of cigarettes, Noctis sits by the bar, watching you kissing someone else on the dance floor. And by someone else, he is watching you brimming with joy in the arms of his best friend. And by brimming with joy, he is watching your face sweeten into that honeyed smile of yours while he holds a cold bottle of beer on one hand, and his loneliness on the other.

Maybe, in some form or another, this is self-harm—how Noctis cuts himself whenever he hears your laughter that he knows will never be for him. The way he visits the graveyard of all the words he should have said to you a long time ago—all the  _I love you’s_ and  _I like you’s_  that refused to leave his mouth—now a ghostly ache that knows no rest.

It truly is a pity to love and  _not_  be loved in return. To love someone who does not love you back and still have your heart broken all the same.

“Hey, you.” You suddenly sidle up to Noctis that he is startled by the sound of your voice. “How come you’re here by yourself?”

“You know I’m not much of a dancer,” he says with a sheepish smile.

You laugh. “Not an excuse. Iggy’s out there with me and he’s not much of a dancer, either,” you say indignantly. You nudge him by the shoulder. “C’mon now, what’s the matter?”

Noctis says nothing for a while. Then, he says, “It’s… it’s not that easy, y’know. Being around you.”

You cast him a worried glance. “Did I do something wrong, Noct?” you ask.

“Of course not.” He looks at you with a smile, something that you find so eerily unhappy. He averts his eyes away from you and says, “It’s just… I really like you. And I still do.”

“Noct, I…” You falter helplessly. The smile on your face fades. “I’m really sorry. You know that we can be friends—”

“Yeah, I know.” Noctis nods, fiddles with the bottle in his hand. He swallows the hurt and gives you a bright smile before he takes his leave.


	4. Noctis / "Maybe in another life."

Noctis broods over the campfire, its smoke rising like a veil in the starless sky. While the rest of his friends have decided to hit the hay, he still could not sleep, let alone get himself to close his eyes. A part of him wants to stay awake for as long as he could. Which is a funny thing, considering how in his youth he found the greatest pleasure and satisfaction in a good night’s sleep.

But even in this light, it is easy to see how he is no longer the same boy who relished in such things. It is easy to see how his face have been tempered by burden, his eyes already set to carry the weight of the world.

_Please, I need more time with her—_

“Why are you still up?”

As if heard by the gods, Noctis turns, and he sees you emerging from the tent. “Oh, hi,” he says, smiling. You slide one of the folding chairs and sit by his side. “Can’t really sleep.”

“Me neither,” you say gingerly.

A pensive pause. Noctis could feel your eyes on him that he is unsure of what to say. Instead, he takes your hand in his. Holds it for a little while longer, commits your warmth into memory, prays for more time, more time, more time.

_Please, just one more day, and I wouldn’t ask for more._

“Will you let me say something selfish?” he says finally, his voice sounding brittle.

You nod and smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“I…” He trails off, pauses; he squeezes your hand a little firmer and says, “I want to be with you. Always have. If I could, I would never let this darkness end if that’s what it takes for you and I to be together.”

You breath out a small laugh, one that seems to tremble no further away from your tears. “Yup, that’s selfish alright.”

“Told ya.” He smiles, pressing a kiss on your hand.

You lean your head on his shoulder. “Maybe in another life,” you tell him. “Maybe in some other universe, we‘re meant to be together. But for now, I guess this will have to be enough.”

 


	5. Nyx / "For all it’s worth, I loved you. So much.”

The cold, spring evening is heavy with sea breeze and the thrum of the bass coming from inside Libertus’s house. Another party, some drinks, a couple of drunken bodies on the floor. Frankly, to be out here on the porch is infinitely better than having to deal with Tredd’s stupid antics or Luche’s thread of corny jokes; but just as you thought you have escaped trouble, Nyx sidles up to you, red solo cup in hand.

“What’s got you brooding over here?” he asks cheerfully. He offers you a drink; you take it.

You shrug, drain the drink in one gulp. “Well, someone has to stay sober and clean up everyone’s mess,” you say dryly.

He laughs. “You still haven’t changed.”

“I could say the same with you,” you say, raising your cup to him.

The night drifts in long conversations, gales of laughter, anecdotes of the years past. Has it really been that long since the two of you last spoke, for you to spend these sleepless hours in his company, the two of you starved to redeem all those time apart? If you were to be honest, a part of you missed  _this._  The thrill of his charm, his bright blue eyes. He had been such a constant in your life that the day you parted ways, although amicably, you felt as if you have been forced to live with a missing limb. Strange to think how simple things had once been, how Nyx had once been yours, and you were his.

And even stranger to think that out of the blue, he suddenly says, “For what it’s worth, I loved you. So much.”

An awful silence rests. The pause is punctuated by the sound of the waves.

_Loved._ The past tense should not have hurt, but Nyx says it with such a finality, like fire reduced to ash, a city in ruins, a dead body in its grave.  _Loved._  Says it as if the history between the two of you could be so casually parceled like an old decoration already out of season, something to be tucked in a box. _Loved._ Says it because it is no longer in the present. Says it because it really is over. Says it while here you are, still loving, loving, and  _loving_  and never quite leaving.

Nyx must have noticed your unease when he says, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said—”

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head. “Because for what it’s worth, I still love you. Even after all this time,” you say evenly. He says nothing. You force yourself to smile before you march right back to the noise.

 

 


	6. Ardyn, Somnus / "Things were so easy back then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of my Messenger OCs from Laws of Motion.

In a strange territory that tiptoed between slumber and waking, Ardyn found himself in a field of red sylleblossoms again. It was a dream he had been having ever since he had taken residence in the ruined halls of the Citadel, yet its frequent recurrence was not the main thing that bothered him, but the distinct clarity and familiarity of it, like a distant memory or a fragment from another life: the sickly sweet scent of the flowers, the sodden earth, the expanse of red and green that tossed and swayed with the wind. He was always alone in these dreams of his, but this time, he had unexpected company.

“Glad to have you join me,” said a voice not far behind him.

It was Somnus. As Ardyn turned, he saw his brother sitting in a brown leather armchair in the middle of the flower field. An old chess table and another armchair sat across from him. He seemed to be playing against himself, attention drawn to the board, analyzing his next move.

Ardyn stared at him. He was struck by an awful wordlessness. This image of his brother before him should have invited the terrible weight of all his vitriolic fury he had harboured so faithfully for two thousand years; he had treasured his ill will like a prized possession, kept its thorns and wore it like a crown on his head with nothing but a kingdom of his hate to rule over.

And yet looking at Somnus now, all Ardyn felt was an unsettling emptiness. He could not find his anger. He was nothing without it. In its place, he felt a frightening calmness that did not seem to belong to him.

“Am I dead?” Ardyn asked warily as he took the seat across Somnus.

“No, not really.” Somnus looked up, leaning his cheek on his closed fist. His face was still how Ardyn remembered it, all sharp cheekbones and lazy smiles and sleepy blue eyes. “You’re sound asleep somewhere, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Ardyn sounded disappointed. “I was fairly certain that I am dead. You know, with you here, I thought I was about to spend eternity in Hell.”

“Sorry to disappoint, brother.” Somnus laughed, raking the hair back from his eyes. “Marlowe seems to be having fun conjuring dreams for you, though. And toying with your emotions.”

_Of course, the sea witch,_  Ardyn thought wryly. No wonder his feelings of hatred seemed to have vanished without a trace. If there was any celestial being capable of manipulating dreams and feelings of others, best believe the Messenger of the Hydraean would be up to the task. He had seen her tricks on many an occasion since he and Somnus were children. This one should be no different.

Before Ardyn could demand to see Marlowe, Somnus asked: “Remember when we were children, Johanna taught us how to first play this game?”

“You mean the very same day I beat you?” Ardyn huffed an amused smile. “That time you threw a tantrum and—“

“Yes, yes, the very same,” Somnus said bitterly, rolling his eyes.

Ardyn laughed. “I remember that,” he said. His voice sounded so wistful that it surprised him. “It was also the same day Maxwell came in with the swords he forged for us. Then Circe and Hestia having to punish him for giving young boys such as us weapons instead of books.”

“Indeed. It was quite a time,” Somnus said, beaming. “Things were easier with all of us back then, isn’t it?”

There was a long silence. Ardyn regarded Somnus, whose face had gone solemn. Then, he said, in a voice that neither held anger nor fury: “I still don’t understand why you did it.”

Somnus pursed his lips, averting his gaze from Ardyn. “Of course you wouldn’t.” He drew a weary sigh. “I was living in your shadow for years. Living in the scraps of your glory. I had nothing to offer, nothing to show for myself. But I was a fool. I was the first one who broke our oath to Circe. Remember? Fight for each other and  _not_  against each other is what we promised. But what I did to you…” He trailed off, the sound of his voice threatened to crack. “Brother, I still bear that shame. I have lived to regret it for the rest of my days. And I’m not going to ask your forgiveness, because we both know I do not deserve any of it. I only hope that you find the peace you so rightfully deserve.”

Ardyn said nothing and looked at Somnus, uncertain on what to say next. There were so many things he had wanted to tell him, but he could not seem to say it out loud. The words refused to leave his mouth.  _I would’ve given up that wretched throne for you. I would’ve fought wars with you. I would’ve wanted nothing more than to be on your side because we’re bound by blood, and until the end, you’re my brother—_

Before Ardyn could even muster the courage to speak, he woke up. The sea of red sylleblossoms were replaced with the ruins of the Citadel’s throne room. All he was left with was a ghostly ache in his chest, his face strangely damp with tears.

 


	7. Prompto / "Don't cry with me, stupid. I thought this was mutual."

The airport lounge is deserted, freezing in its emptiness. Prompto glances at the clock as he watches you fall in an uneasy silence, your cold hand in his. It is past midnight, and he has a little over three hours to go. Three more hours to indulge in the comfort of your company. Three more hours to relish this moment. Three more hours before you board that plane and spend the next three years of your life without him by your side.

“You want me to get you something to drink?” Prompto asks kindly. The usual light and cheery tone of his voice is replaced by a jarring sadness.

You look up at him and smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Okay.”

“Prom?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to see me off, y’know.”

Prompto shrugs. “I know. But I want to make the most out of it. We did agree that the effectivity of this break will take place by the time you get on that plane, right?”

You snort a chuckle. “Right.”

He presses a kiss on your temple, his fingers threading with yours a little tighter. The faint scent of your perfume beckons a sharp pang of pain in his chest. It is almost funny, how a few months ago, you and Prompto have been planning your whole life together: adopt a puppy, rent an apartment, buy a secondhand car. He had even bought a ring, keeping an eye out for the perfect time to pop the question. Everything seemed so easy and all ironed out.

But as it turns out, the stars have not aligned; the odds are not in his favour, nor is it in yours. You both eventually ended up wanting different things in life. You are chasing that dream job elsewhere. But make no mistake—Prompto could not be any happier for you, proud of how far you’ve come. And inasmuch as the two of you want to gamble on time and distance, he chose to be realistic, and so did you. If letting you go is the price he has to pay just so he could see you fulfill your dreams, even if he is not in it, Prompto is willing to pay it in full.

And yet…

_Why do I feel so unreasonably selfish?_

“I’m really going to miss you. So fucking much,” he tells you, pulling you closer to him.

You bury your head in the crook of his neck. He could feel the warmth of your skin, the tremble of your voice as you say, “I’m going to miss you, too.”

He struggles to keep his voice even. “Let me be your boyfriend until this very last second, okay?”

You nod. But then, you start to cry against his chest. And as soon as you do, Prompto shatters the facade, unable to hold back his own tears any longer.

“Don’t cry with me, stupid,” you say in between sniffles. “This was a mutual agreement, remember?”

“I know,” he says, his voice hoarse with the sound of his own sobs. “And I swear on my life I’ll wait for you. I’ll keep waiting for you until you come back to me.”

 


	8. Ardyn, Aera / "I wished we had more time."

In her bedchamber bathed in the silvery gleam of the moonlight, Aera watched Ardyn sleep by her side, listening to the gentle rhythm of his breaths. She always found comfort to see this side of him he seemed to reserve for no one else but her: free of exhaustion, lips slightly parted, the sharp features of his handsome face softened into rest. Strange how just moments ago, they were trading each other’s names in pain-pleasure, and she could not contain the warmth of amusement that simmered within her looking at Ardyn who slept so soundly and so peacefully after all of  _that._

And yet, after all of  _that,_  Aera could not bring herself to sleep.

She knew it was not the sweet soreness that still lingered on her body, nor this supposedly beautiful night that kept her awake. Ardyn was bound to depart the Capital tomorrow. Though she had expressed her utmost support in good faith, a vague sense of dread hung in the air. Its menace remained weightless in the night, and she carried its load upon her back determined to suffer it in silence.

Beside her, Ardyn began to stir.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he whispered, his voice low and breathy.

“I’m sorry,” said Aera. She saw Ardyn rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, turning to her with a small smile on his face. She hugged herself, clutching the sheets against her chest. Outside, the trees murmured in chorus with the chirp of the crickets. A cold breeze swirled through the curtains. She shuddered.

Ardyn took her hand in his. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she lied, smiling back at him.

Ardyn regarded her curiously for a moment’s silence. Then, he sat up and pressed a kiss on the back of her shoulder. “I believe lying isn’t your forte, my love.”

“I just…” Aera paused, hesitating. She bit her lip and said, “I can’t persuade you to stay for a little while longer now, can I?”

Ardyn let out a small laugh. He kissed the back of her hand. “You know I have to go soon,” he said gently. “My calling awaits. The people need me.”

_And I need you, too,_ she had wanted to tell him.  _There are still many things that I have to tell you, so many things that you need to know._ But she couldn’t deliver the truth out of her mouth. The words choked her—so did her duty. As Oracle, she was poised to be polite, fashioned for obedience, destined for this unworldly selflessness. All her life, she had been conditioned to set aside her wants, her needs, her desires. And she did. She  _always_  did. 

But if she were to be honest—against her better judgment, against her faith, against her unquestioning beliefs—she wanted to grant herself an opportunity for selfishness. She wanted to plead for him to stay. She wanted to beg, to grovel, to argue until he changed his mind. If she could, she would betray her sacred oath, to permit the crushing desire bigger than her body to devour her, to let this love swallow her whole. Is it such a terrible thing, to desperately want to protect the man she loves from such a cruel fate?

Instead, Aera only nodded dutifully. She rested her head on his shoulder, hiding her face away from him. “I wish we had more time,” she said finally.

“I’ll be back soon,” Ardyn promised. He cupped her face in the palm of his warm, calloused hands. “I’ll be back here before you even know it.”

Even as the tiniest, most treacherous sob threatened to bubble up in the back of her throat, Aera smiled. She said nothing more. She knew, with aching awareness, that she had already lost him and failed him all at once.

 

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles are written based from this list of [writing prompts](http://hanalwayssolo.tumblr.com/post/183672018638/belladoesrpmeme-%F0%9D%90%87%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%80%F0%9D%90%91%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%81%F0%9D%90%91%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%80%F0%9D%90%8A-%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%8D%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%8D%F0%9D%90%82%F0%9D%90%84-%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%80%F0%9D%90%91%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%91%F0%9D%90%92).


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